


Sugaring Season

by Endangered_Slug



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Fluff, silly stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-18 19:39:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3581487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Endangered_Slug/pseuds/Endangered_Slug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle French impulsively volunteers to help Mrs. Lucas with a seasonal chore and stumbles across the town’s pawnbroker, Mr. Gold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sugaring Season

“And just what do you think you’re doing?”

Belle French stopped short at the unexpected Scottish brogue, hammer poised to strike, and slowly looked over her shoulder. There was an irate man wearing a business suit underneath a heavy overcoat — looking entirely out of place on this blustery winter’s day in the middle of the woods — standing with his hands on the head of a cane and looking at her with annoyed resignation. He was a handsome man — older and with a care-worn face that she immediately liked — his soft, brown eyes were narrowed at her suspiciously and he was getting obviously impatient for her answer. “Well, Dearie?” he said.

“I’m tapping this tree?” she said as if it wasn’t plainly obvious. She looked down the way where she had come from, the crooked rows of silver buckets hanging from the trees ready to catch the running sap glinted in the dim light of the hazy sun.

“On my property?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, I—” She looked at the tap she’d just placed in the tree and her shoulders slumped. “Oh, I’m sorry, I must have misread the plat map,” she groaned in frustration.

“Did you?” he said, smirking as his entire body visibly relaxed going from about-to-strike- cobra to urbane landowner before her eyes. "Where do you think you are?”

“Mrs. Lucas said…”

He gave an undignified snort, shaking his head. “You’re about five hundred yards off, Dearie. And that,” he said, pointing to the tree she’d just tapped. “Is an oak.”

She looked at it critically. “It looks just like all the others I did.”

“And you’re sure they were all maples?”

“I… am sure they were trees.” She gave him a rueful smile. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Truly astonishing” he said, his lips quirking up in the corner, chuckling at her expense. “Well, come on,” he said, walking away, briskly. He strode ahead of her with determination, his long graying hair flying back with each step he took.

“Wait,” she called after him, wriggling the tap out of the oak tree and threw it and the hammer into her borrowed wheelbarrow and hurried after him. “Where are we going?” In the middle of the woods? With a stranger? And nothing but a hammer for her defense? Well, that’s fine, she thought, considering it over. He carried a cane and walked with a limp. She could probably outrun him in an instant. If she had to.

“We’re going to look at your handiwork,” he said over his shoulder. “And I’m going to show you where Mrs. Lucas’s property line is. But, first, tell me who you are?”

“I’m Belle French,” she answered him, grunting as the wheelbarrow caught on an exposed root. She struggled with it, the buckets and taps and hangers rattling around like a tinkerer’s cart.

“The new librarian?” he asked.

“You’ve heard of me?”

“It’s a small town.”

“True.”

They’d followed the trail of buckets and taps, the man glancing at each one before moving along to the next. “That’s another oak, ”he told her and for the life of her, she couldn’t tell the difference between it and the maple next to it. It was a humiliating experience for someone who grew up in a florist’s shop. But then, she thought, cheering herself up, Papa never dealt with trees.

“Um, I’ll take the taps out. I’m sorry for trespassing.”

He shrugged. “No matter. And the sap has already started running so you may want to leave them in for now. It would be a shame to waste it.”

“Thank you,” she said, surprised. “I’ll have to come back to collect the sap a few times. That’s okay with you?”

“Perfectly. Just be sure to give me a few bottles of syrup when you’re done.”

“Well, that’s definitely fair. I don’t think Mrs. Lucas would mind.”

He snorted a laugh, shaking his head.

“May I ask who you are so I can deliver the bottles to the right person? Or I can just leave them out here in the woods like a sugar sprite.”

His smile dropped and the air felt a few degrees chillier to Belle, which was preposterous.

“I’m Mr. Gold,” he told her seriously.

“The—” Loan shark was on the tip of her tongue, but she caught herself before she could blurt it out. “Pawnbroker?”

He smiled crookedly, flashing a golden tooth. “You’ve heard of me?”

“Well, it’s a small town,” she said, trying not to look obviously thrown off. Of course she’d heard of him. She had been warned off of him by everyone she’d met ever since she moved to town — stay away from Gold, he’ll drown you in debt before you can blink. “And your shop is right across the street from my library,” she reminded him.

“So it is. Well, Miss French,” he said, stopping at a copse of trees that looked just like any other. “This is the end of my property and the beginning of Mrs. Lucas’s. Do you have a compass?”

“No, I don’t. Why?”

He looked horrified. “Did she just send you out here alone without any directions at all?”

“I guess.” She watched him out of the corner of her eyes, waiting for him to say something, feeling the need to explain herself. “I like doing new things and I’ve always wanted to try this ever since I moved up here. To be honest, I didn’t think it sounded very hard so I...” she spread her hands out with a wry look. “Just volunteered.”

“Are you going to be the one boiling the syrup down?” he asked suddenly.

She blinked at him. “Not entirely. I’ll be helping, but I understand it’s a group effort. Why?” she asked, suspiciously.

“No reason. I just wanted to know if I needed to evacuate for the day when that happens.”

“Rude,” she chided, poking him in the shoulder with a dirty, sappy finger before she was aware of it. She dropped her hand and looked at him with wide-eyed dismay, but he just merely bit his bottom lip to keep from laughing.

“Sorry,” she said, sheepishly, balling her hands up in their ratty fingerless gloves and hiding them behind her back like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

He shrugged good naturedly, muttering something about it being ‘just a suit’ and Belle stood there wondering how anyone could think he was some sort of monster. He’d caught her trespassing, after all, and instead of calling the authorities or shooting her, he’d gone out of his way — something that must have been difficult enough for him when he walked with a cane — to put her on the right path and correct her knowledge of the local flora. Those were not the actions of a monster.

“How did you know I was out here,” she asked him, curiously.

“I didn’t. I saw you from the road when I drove up.” At her quizzical look, he clarified, “I have a weekend cabin nearby.”

“Oh.” She pushed her hands into her back pockets and rocked on her heels, trying to think of something to say to this dapper man who may or may not be the worst person in existence. “Well, thank you for helping me,” she said after a long silence where they didn’t quite hide the way they were staring at each other. “I should probably finish what I was doing.”

“It was my pleasure, Miss French,” he said, warmly, a light smile hovering on his lips. “Do you know your way back? I’d hate for you to get lost. Your inevitable demise would weigh heavily on my conscious.”

She sputtered a laugh. “I’m good. I think. My car is just over there,” she pointed east. “And I can always follow my trail of tapped oak trees,” she told him with a rueful grin. “I’ll see you in town later though.”

“Oh, I doubt that, Miss French” he said, looking at her funny through his windswept hair. It really was lovely, she thought. Long, but it suited him.

“Why not?” she asked. “I’ll, um, have to give you the syrup I promised.”

“Just leave them with Mrs. Lucas. I’ll pick them up when I collect next month’s rent.”

“But—”

“You know who I am, right?”

“Ye-e-es?” she said, trying to suss out where he was going with this.

“No doubt you’ve heard some unpleasant things.”

‘I— well, yes, I have. But—”

“But?”

“People talk a lot about things they don’t understand.”

He stared at her as if he was trying to decode what she’d said. He nodded slowly. “Yes, well. You’re new. And you’re nice,” he said brightly before looking down at his shoes, now muddy from their walk. “If you want to have any sort of social life in this town, it would be better if you weren’t seen near me.”

“Don’t you think I should be the one to determine what I want as far as a social life?” she asked him, annoyed at being told what to do by a complete stranger. “I can make up my own mind, you know.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you,’ he said, holding up his hands. “I’m just letting you know that you don’t have to make friends with the town beast.”

She looked him in the eye and told him without hesitation. “You’re not a beast. And I’ll see you in town.”

“No. You won’t,” he told her, firmly before he turned and walked away.

Belle watched him as he walked to where she supposed his cabin was located, irritated with the way he left.

“Yes, you will,” she whispered at his retreating form. “Jerk,” she added for good measure. She grabbed the handles of her wheel barrow and trundled back towards Mrs. Lucas’s side of the forest, determined to pay Mr. Gold a visit first thing Monday morning.


End file.
